Sleep Deprivation
by Distempered
Summary: He knows that he is going to regret the eight cups of coffee that he drank in so short a time period, but he doesn't care right now. There is a boy...in his bed. HarryxDraco


**Disclaimer: **We all know that I don't own them. J.K. does, but she's ever so nice and she shares. Also, this fic is pretty cracky and definitely slashy, so if you're not a fan of either, please don't continue reading.

* * *

**SLEEP DEPRIVATION**

--- ---- ---- ---

He has had entirely too much caffeine in far too short a time span, so he just lays there in his bed, staring unseeingly at the back of the other boy's head. His eyes blink rapidly, as no matter how many times he tries to shut them and to keep them shut, he is unable to do so. And then it occurs to him. He suddenly realizes that there is a boy in his bed. A boy. In his bed.

He is aware that later on, he is going to regret the eight cups of coffee that he drank in so short a timeframe. He will be irritable and even bitter, but right now he is just curious. There is a boy, this boy may be a wizard or may not, he does not know, but there is a boy, and he is laying very close. And they are in the nude, or so it appears.

He peeks beneath the covers for a moment, and they are not. Well, he is not, but the other boy is. There is a boy in his bed. How this came to be, he suddenly cannot recall, so wrapped up is he in the mere fact that this boy is in his bed.

He reaches out then, and experimentally tugs on the other boy's hair. It is soft, and the boy does not wake. He tugs once, twice, three times, and then he simply grabs a fistful of hair with each hand and yanks it. Hard.

The other boy lets out an almost comical yelp of surprise, sitting straight up in bed and swinging an arm out against his attacker.

He just stares. Why is this boy in his bed? This one, _this_ boy. It does not make a lick of sense, but clearly something has happened between them tonight. Why, he is not sure.

"Why are you in my bed?" he asks.

"Malfoy, this is my bed," says this boy.

Malfoy. Draco Malfoy. 'Me,' he thinks. "Why am I in your bed, then?"

"You're high," the boy answers, clearly annoyed.

"I am not. I would never do such a thing. I am…something. Something, but not high. I am…intoxicated. With caffeine, though, not with alcohol. I'm caffeinated."

"Right," says this boy. He lays back down then, swiftly pulling the covers up to his chin and closing his eyes once more.

This displeases Draco greatly. This boy is displeasing. This boy, this Boy Who Lived is very displeasing. Well, if he is going to be awake, then so should Potter - his name is Potter. "Where is Pansy?" he asks.

Potter's answer is muffled by the pillow he has placed over his face. This displeases Draco even more. He reaches out to try to pinch Potter's stomach, but he cannot find a satisfactory piece of fat. Instead, he pokes the other boy, hard, right below the belly button.

"She is in Azkaban," Potter repeats, lifting the pillow and managing a glare in Draco's general direction.

Draco is quite confused. "Well, that cannot possibly be. I had sex with her five nights ago."

"No," Potter replies, as if to a small child, "you had sex with Hannah Abbott five nights ago."

"With whom?"

An exasperated sigh escapes Potter's lips. He sits up a bit in bed, looking like a petulant child. "Hannah Abbott. You know who Hannah Abbott is. At least I should hope you do, having had sex with her and all." He mutters this last, but Draco still catches it all.

"I would never have sex with her," he says, disgust evident in his tone. "She's a Mudblood."

"Yes, and from what I hear, that's what you called her the entire time you were having it off." He scoffs. "And apparently, she rather liked it."

"I would never have sex with a Mudblood."

Potter yawns widely and scrubs a hand over his eyes. "You would if you were trying to make Susan jealous…which is definitely why you had sex with Hannah."

"Make who jealous?"

"Susan Bones. You've been having sex with _her_ for months now. Please do not tell me that you don't remember that," he says angrily.

Draco considers. Yes, he does remember that. "Susan is pretty, and she's a pureblood."

"Yes, whatever, now can I please go back to sleep?"

"What time is it?" Draco asks.

"I don't have my glasses on."

"What has that got to do with anything?"

Potter bites down rather forcefully on his lip, and Draco laughs at him. "I cannot see the clock because I don't have my glasses on. Now shut the hell up. I'm tired," he says, through gritted teeth.

"Why would I ever have sex with Hannah Abbott to make someone as pretty as Susan jealous?"

"Why do you do any of the stupid, spiteful things you do?" Potter scoffs again. "Maybe Hufflepuffs are your secret kink."

"I do not have any kinks."

"Everyone has kinks, Malfoy."

"I don't."

"Yes, you do, and it's Hufflepuffs."

Draco falls silent for a bit. His thoughts are still racing wildly, barely settling on any one topic before moving onto the next. It is only when he hears Potter's rhythmic breathing becoming out-and-out snoring that he speaks again. Loudly.

"I feel like I am laying on a big sheet of glass."

Potter groans loudly. "I feel like I want to punch you in the mouth."

Draco turns his head and looks at this Boy Who Lived, studies him for a moment, and then turns back to stare at the ceiling again. "I feel like I want to kiss you."

"If you do that, then I _will_ punch you in the mouth."

"Why am I in your bed, Potter? Did we have sex?"

Potter immediately sits up and glares down at Draco. "No."

"But you do like to have sex with boys, Potter."

Silence. Another glare.

Draco laughs. "I'm sorry, but you do like to have sex with _men_, Potter."

Again, Potter does not reply. He lays back down and starts to put the pillow over his face again, but Draco is much too quick for him. He tosses the pillow across the room, before propping himself up on his elbow and smirking at Potter.

"You still haven't answered me about why I'm here," he says, when he feels that he has made Potter sufficiently uncomfortable with his leering.

"You managed to find your way here somehow, and since I am such a good person, I let you come inside," he says, rolling over. Hiding.

"Yes, but…in your bed?"

Harry sighs. Suddenly his name is Harry and not Potter anymore. "I only have one bed in this flat, and you were so…whatever it is that you are right now, that I felt it only fair to let you sleep in the bed."

"How noble," Draco remarks, disdainfully.

Harry appears to shrug, but Draco cannot really tell as he is laying flat again. "I guess," he then says, noncommittally.

Draco looks nonplussed by his agreement. "Hufflepuffs, honestly. That is just mad," he begins again, a brief look of bewilderment crossing his pale, pointed features.

"At least they're pretty Hufflepuffs," Harry replies snottily.

"Yes, but they are so deadly dull, so insufferably tedious…the sex is boring. I hate boring sex. I think there is quite possibly nothing in the world worse than boring sex with a Hufflepuff…even one as pretty as Susan is."

As he finishes his quick tirade, Draco becomes aware of the fact that he has been tracing the lines of Harry's well-defined abdominal muscles - 'must be the Auror training,' he thinks - for quite some time now, and Harry has yet to comment upon it. "You are so gay, Harry," he then accuses archly, with an arrogant sniff.

"You are the one who can't stop touching me," Harry responds, almost lazily.

Draco draws his fingers away sharply. "Gay," he repeats.

"Whatever. I'm going back to sleep now."

The pair fall silent again, as Harry drifts off to sleep, and Draco resigns himself to the fact that he won't be falling back asleep, at least not any time soon. He starts to think about Hufflepuffs, about Susan and Hannah and the other one he shagged whose name he can't recall at the moment, which he decides must be because she was the most boring of all.

"Malfoy!"

Draco frowns. "You're interrupting my thoughts, Harry."

"You are talking out loud! I don't want to hear about how you had shagged Susan in the cloak check at St. Mungo's."

"That was probably the least boring of the sex I've had with her."

"I don't care."

"Did you know that there are three-hundred eighty-seven tiles in the ceiling, Harry? I counted them," Draco proudly declares.

Harry seems to have had quite enough, though, as he roughly shoves out at Draco. "All right, fine, I'm awake now. I'm awake, I'm awake, I'm awake. Are you happy?"

Draco rolls his eyes. "Not especially. I don't like you, Harry, and I'm certainly not going to go gay for you."

Harry is clearly seething, but his words seem out of place coming out of his mouth. "If you call me Harry again, I think I will turn my wand on myself." He sits up fully, throws back the covers, and gets out of the bed, making his way over to the dresser.

"Come back to bed," Draco commands.

A derisive laugh escapes Harry's throat, and Draco finds himself horribly offended. He is supposed to be the derisive one. He is supposed to be the arrogant, narcissistic, mean-spirited git. He is Draco Malfoy, isn't he? "You aren't very pleasant when you haven't had any sleep," he adds.

"And you're a bloody laugh riot," Harry responds, but he ends up back in the bed just the same.

"We're lovers, aren't we, Harry?"

"You sound an awful lot like Luna when you're stoned, Malfoy."

"Not stoned," he whines.

"Why did you drink so much coffee anyway?"

"I was on a date with…"

"A Hufflepuff?" he says, with an ugly sneer.

"…yes. The red-haired one with the face and the legs for days."

Harry groans loudly, for some reason. "Rose Zeller?"

Draco considers. "Sounds about right."

"She's 17, you pervert, and her uncle's an Auror!"

"What does that have to do with anything?"

Harry rolls his eyes. "Which part?"

"The second part…the Auror part," replies Draco, as if this is the most obvious thing in the world. "I fail to see how having an Auror for an uncle would make any difference. If I want to shag a person, I don't particularly care about their unimportant relatives."

"Malfoy!" This time, however, as Harry cries out his name, it is slightly strangled, sounding more like a boy in the throes of puberty. "Don't touch THAT!"

Draco is amused by how conflicted Harry sounds as he commands him to stop. It is clear to him now that Harry is quite possibly the gayest creature on the planet. With a decidedly malevolent smirk, he shifts over in the bed ever so, enough to give himself better access to the piece of anatomy that Harry seems so keen on him touching/not touching.

Harry squirms. "I'm not taking the mickey, Malfoy, you need to, oh SHIT, you, wow, you need to just--"

"Shut up, Harry," he interrupts, "we both know that you are gay, and you want this to keep happening right now, and you most certainly aren't going to say 'stop' any time soon." Draco says all this with the condescension that he is more used to showcasing where Harry is concerned, even as his nimble fingers continue to toy with Harry's fun parts. He is not even especially concerned that his own fun parts are no longer immune to what's going on here this morning, so concentrated is he upon the rather delicious whimpering sounds that Harry is making. "Gay," he repeats again, and yet this time, it is much less condescending.

Harry's hips buck upward, involuntarily Draco assumes, and he grins. "Don't stop, ungh…"

"You make awfully funny noises when you're not enjoying something," Draco teases, as his motions become more fevered.

"Yeah, and you're…shiiiit…you're really playful when you're…oh sweet fuck!"

"Not stoned," Draco insists, punctuating it firmly enough to send Harry into the throes of ecstasy. The Boy Who Lived is a beautiful creature when he jerks and twists and shivers and groans. He comes like a woman and---

"I do NOT come like a woman."

"What?"

"You're narrating again," Harry says, less irritably than before. Most likely because he's gotten off, so he's no longer cranky. He rolls over to look at Draco. "So can I ask you something now?"

Draco rolls his eyes. "Oh what, what, what?"

"Actually, it's more like a request."

"What?" he says again, smirking. As the boy in his bed throws his arm around him, Draco cuddles up against him because he is Draco Malfoy and he likes to be cuddled when he feels like it.

"No more Hufflepuffs, please. You're mine, you know."

Draco scoffs. "They're my secret kink. You cannot ask me to give up my secret kink just because you want me to be gay with you."

"Malfoy, you _are_ gay with me. I've had enough of this stupid crap. I'd really like things to go back to the way they were, please."

Draco has to laugh then. Harry sounds so earnest - it's actually rather cute, not that a Malfoy would ever use the word 'cute' to describe someone, especially not a person as strange and angular as Harry Potter. Are they really gay? Well, they must be. Draco has the feeling that this Boy Who Lived would not lie to him. Being a stupid, impetuous Gryffindor, though, Draco wonders if Harry can even lie to anyone, really.

"I suppose they can," he then says, airily. He settles into that well-defined side with a soft sigh and can almost feel his boyfriend - he supposes that is what he is - relax again. Draco closes his eyes and finally drifts off to sleep…for about five minutes.

"Hufflepuffs, really?"


End file.
